Facing a Myth
by No Sweeter Song
Summary: Teddy Lupin has spent his whole life listening to multiple stories and multiple views about who his father was. Now he holds the truth in his own hands and has to come to terms with it all, face to face.


Just a bit piece I wrote the other day when I realized it was July 21 and that it had been one year since the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It's ben a long year, full of both sadness at the end of the era and also acceptance at the fates of some of my favorite characters'. This story is a piece of my closure, so to speak, or the beginning, at least.

As always, I don't own and comments are loved and appreciated!

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Clutching the folded parchment in his hands, Teddy glanced at the tree. It'd been on the school's grounds for as long as anyone could remember. For a long time, he'd simply found it a bit of a nuisance, one more part of the school that he couldn't explore. But over the summer holiday, his godfather had slipped him the parchment after dinner, telling him to put it to good use. When he'd first opened it, he'd rather thought Harry had gone mental. A blank piece of parchment would do no one any good.

But then he arrived at the school and opened his trunk. And the journal had been sitting on top. And the more he'd read, the more Harry's point was made clear. He'd tapped his wand carefully to its pages and, feeling quite foolish, had whispered the words, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

It had taken a bit to truly understand what it was he was holding. Not only was it a tracking device for everyone in the school, but it also showed every nook and cranny of Hogwarts castle as well. And as he'd delved further into the journal, he understood the names sprawled across the map. His father. Harry's. Harry's godfather. And the man who'd betrayed them all.

He'd followed the path on the map, from Gryffindor tower down to the grounds and out to the sweeping spread of the Whomping Willow. Age hadn't tempered the tree's attitude any, and it took an experimental whack in his direction, which might've made contact were he a foot or two closer. For a moment he wished he'd brought Victoire along--she was usually comforting in moments where he looked before he leapt. Even though she was younger than him, she understood his family life better than anyone. But the Ravenclaw's logical attitude likely would've stopped him before he even made it to the tree, and he couldn't have that. Harry had slipped him the map and the journal with reason. Teddy had to see where this path led. He had a suspicion, and he kept the red leather bound journal gripped in his hand as backup.

Glancing around, he found a long stick and pointed it exactly where the journal had said. A small knot at the base of the tree was touched and the violent branches ceased their attack. A hint of a smile crossed his face as he beamed with pride. Somehow, he felt like he was going on an epic journey. Or, better still, a voyage through time.

He slipped through the passage and began following its curves and turns until it emptied into a dark room. An actual room! He was right where he thought he'd be, and the idea both pleased him and terrified him. Instinctively, Teddy touched one hand to his wand, though he feared if he were confronted with anything, he wouldn't have the nerve to attack it.

For a few brief moments, he explored the first floor. It was all but empty, however, save a kitchen with dirty, grungy cooking tools. That was alright. He certainly had no intentions of staying for dinner. Instead, he slowly climbed the old, creaking stairs. They opened to a small hallway, but almost as if driven by instinct, Teddy knew where to go. The last door at the far end of the hall opened to the large room with the single bed, torn to shreds.

He was there. A wave of emotions passed over him, though he couldn't guarantee why. Happiness, he realised, because he'd finally found a link to his father that no one else had. Pride because he'd actually found it. But the melancholy that settled over him wasn't quite explainable. The dreary feeling, like the time his godfather had allowed him to accompany him to Azkaban on Auror business. That he didn't entirely understand. At only fifteen, emotions were a new breed of duck to him, and he was only starting to grasp such things.

Slowly, Teddy made his way to the window, peering out on a scene he'd seen at least half a dozen times from the street but never from so high up. Kids teasing each other, staring at the Shack in awe and wonder. To them, it was haunted, with a ghost who hated everyone. And maybe, to Teddy, it was haunted, too. But not in a ghost, at least not a physical one. A being, certainly. A presence. His father's spirit lingered there. He could feel that, in his own way.

He knew then why Harry had wanted him to go there. Why he'd given him all of the necessary tools but hadn't made his decisions for him. It had been up to Teddy to read the journal and up to Teddy to pull out the map and find the passageway from the tree to here. For a moment, he found it hard to breathe, as the significance of the room he stood in overtook him. The words in the journal came together in his head, now, as he glanced around, seeing each relevant location.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Teddy coughed as the dust rose into the air and filled his lungs. This was the same bed his dad had curled up on as a young teen and waited for night to fall. He felt closer to the man he'd never known than he ever had before, and he let the sensation fill him as he touched the torn bed covers. Claw marks. Or perhaps teeth. The thought didn't terrify him, though. It was a part of who he was. His godfather had taught him long ago that the wolf and the man were separate people. He knew all about the dark times before his birth, but Harry had always made sure he knew how loved he was, for the short time he'd had his parents.

There were small holes in the wall, and a smile flickered across his face as Teddy remembered the story in the journal about the large stag, never quite used to antlers in such a small space. James Potter had been teased over and over until he finally started waiting to transform once he was outside. He saw the rug on the floor where 'Padfoot' had slept many nights, both during his teen years, and as an adult. With narrowed eyes, Teddy glared at the small holes where 'Wormtail' had shimmied through in order to investigate noises around the building.

But he stayed drawn to the marks he knew were canine--or rather, lupine in nature. In some ways, it filled him with dread and created a cold hard lump in his stomach. These marks--tooth, claw, and places where a large wolf-like body had physically been slammed into a wall--they were what had almost lost Teddy his father to begin with. He'd read the words, he knew he hadn't been wanted. Not originally. Mum, maybe, but his father had thought he shouldn't have existed. And then, when he'd come to accept that Teddy was going to be born, he'd thought he shouldn't be a part of his life.

It burned a little, remembering all of that. But he knew better. While some might have found his father's actions heartless, Teddy had read the innermost workings of Remus Lupin's mind. The terror of what he might have done to his unborn child. The hatred of himself and his condition. The guilt, the worry. And, despite those emotions, he'd come around, returned to stay by his mum's side long before Teddy's birth. He'd met him and loved him and cared about him for what little time he'd had left on earth.

While it hurt, Teddy couldn't help the smile that flickered across his face as he sat down against a wall, probably safer and less dusty than the old bed. He opened the journal and turned to the page where his dad had written about his birth. The joy at holding his baby for the first time and the love he'd obviously had for both him and his mother. Those words, those were the ones Harry had wanted him to have. Not the secondhand stories passed around by friends and family members, but the ones Remus himself had written. Pride filling his chest, he nestled back into his Gryffindor scarf and continued to read, flipping through the then familiar pages. There, in the house that had brought his father so much pain and, alternately, happiness, he'd never felt closer to the family he'd never met.


End file.
